Glen

take a hike

Now that the snow is gone and the earth is beginning to thaw, our wee doggies have no excuse to lay around sleeping all day in preparation for raising hell half the night. No, it’s walkies time again – or, as we call it around here to avoid tipping them off, waltz time. (As in, “Can someone take the dogs for a waltz, please?”) So far they haven’t caught on. There’s a reason dogs aren’t man’s smartest friend.

Here’s Anna preparing to take Glen for a waltz. Note Glen’s look of discomfort as it suddenly dawns on him that this is no ordinary fashion show:

Or maybe he’s unnerved by the seemingly innocent human WEARING A TIGER’S HEAD. Better do what she says.

As Anna prepares the leash, Glen considers what’s in store for him and doesn’t like it one bit. Cue his superb stinkeye:

Ha. Just like his mama.

product shown is not actual size

The late January sun slices into the kitchen at just the right angle to make a foot wide sunbathing area for the dogs, which they politely share:

 It doesn’t last long so they soak it up while they can.

While I was transferring that photo from the camera to my computer, I came across this unexplained bit of weirdness:

I don’t know what it is exactly, who made it or who took the picture, but I’m guessing it’s candy. Some kind of candy sculpture. I shudder to think about what might be holding the pieces together.

This photo is what I get for leaving the camera within reach of the short people.

the most (fill in the blank) time of year

As the kids get older, I find Christmas more and more enjoyable with every passing year. Sure, babies and toddlers are cute and it’s fun to dress them up and watch them scream their guts out on Santa’s knee, but they’re also needy and irritable and poop a lot, none of which are qualities I purposely seek out in friends and companions. This pre-teen age, however, is perfect. They aren’t too jaded or “cool” to be excited about Christmas, they hide themselves away for hours before Christmas to make gifts for everyone and, most importantly, they no longer beg for big, noisy, obnoxious, battery-devouring toys that make me want to hurl them (the toys, not the kids) into the driveway and back over them. Repeatedly.

No, now they want books and clothes and make-up and technology. They want to walk into Future Shop and take one of everything, essentially. Which would be expensive, but still better than having a house that looks like a Toys R Us.

Here are the young revellers, modelling t-shirts and a new tiger hat:

 And here’s Foster, ever-so-slightly pleased with his new Wii game:

And Charlotte (for whom every day is Hallowe’en), cuddled up with Glen in a new fuzzy blanket:

And Anna, trying to put on Glen’s new parka:

See that poor dog? That right there is the definition of resignation. Look at his limp little limbs. Why bother struggling? Just let the giant, pink, tiger-headed girl have her way and eventually she’ll get distracted and move on to something else. Fortunately, he received a ton of new toys and treats to make up for the humiliation.

My birthday, on the other hand, never seems to become more enjoyable. I turned 39 (shriek! how can this be?) on December 28 and my lovely family took me out for Chinese food before bribing me with gifts to continue doing their laundry for another year, then presented me with this:

Cupcakes decorated to look like balls of yarn. How cute is that?

photo dumping

It’s out of character, granted, but I don’t have much to say these days. That is probably because I spend every moment flailing frantically, trying to keep my head above water. I know being busy is better than the alternative and I can rest when I’m dead and all those other condescending (and morbid) expressions people throw in your face after asking how you are and hearing the response, “Busy.”

I don’t say I’m busy because I want sympathy (I chose to take on most of my current responsibilities, after all) or because it makes me sound important (aside from being the only one around here to remember everyone’s birthdays, I’m completely replaceable); I say it because it’s true. I have a lot on the go, too much on the go, and I’m struggling to make it all work. I have the bad feeling something has to give and I’m not sure what that something will be. I’ve already jettisoned exercise, all creative pursuits and a social life, so what next? Personal hygiene? Eating? Sleeping?

So, upon realizing I had nothing to write about except my insane daily schedule, I decided to have a look through the past several months of photos on Anna’s digital camera in the hopes of finding a nice picture or two. What I found was…interesting. Anna’s camera is used by everyone (except The Boy Wonder, who seems to have no desire to prance around taking photos with a tiny, pink camera) and as the photographer gets younger and younger, the photos get weirder and weirder. I’ll spare you the countless shots of Lego constructions, Littlest Pet Shop posters, blurry shots of the dog and deeply unflattering close-ups of the humans. (Most important lesson I learned this afternoon: I have no good side.)

But I did find this:

 Anna took this in our office the other day and I call it, “Forbidden Embrace in Office Supply Closet.” It isn’t in a closet and they’re free to embrace, but I think it adds a little excitement and mystery, don’t you?

Oh, and this:

I took this shot on a home-schooling field trip to Halifax to visit the Museum of Natural History and the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic. I call it “Sullen City Bird.” He agreed to this photo in exchange for a french fry.

And this:

“Bald Eagle Contemplating Small Dog for Afternoon Snack.” This photo was taken by Charlotte, I think. It might have been Anna. I can’t remember, but I’m sure they’ll waste no time in correcting me if I’m wrong.

And continuing the bird theme:

“Outside my Dirty Kitchen Window an Osprey Takes Flight.” Shot by me a couple days ago. Not shot shot.

And then I found two photos, also taken by me, that beg for an expanded collection:

Caterpillar on pavement.

Giant slug on pavement.

How exciting to have a new project.

cue drumroll

Introducing Glen:

 After a couple days of brainstorming names and another couple days of debating them, the top two contenders were Graham and Nathan. And then I suggested Glen. Oh. Glen. We were all instantly sold, except Foster, who is still calling him Nathan. He’ll come around. Or he won’t and the poor dog will never really know what his name is.

Glen seems to be settling in well and is having a ball with Mia, who also seems happy to have someone to do dog-type things with (butt-sniffing, running in circles, pleading to stay indoors) and doesn’t smack her on the head for no reason, like Murray the bully cat. For his part, Murray seems pleased to sit back whenever Mia and Glen are horsing around and watch the show. It’s a good deal all around.  Meanwhile, the sole surviving fish is thinking, uh, hello, still swimming all alone over here.

To give the young lovebirdsdogs a special place of their own, I bought a nice, plush cat bed yesterday and look:

Tandem snoozers.